Hello! My name is Shannon. I live in the desert with my husband Scott and 3 kids (Conner, Payton, Anna). I have been blogging since 2005 and I love to write about my family, everyday life, dating my husband, projects and parties, memory keeping, being a mom, faith, setting and working towards goals, and finding joy in the journey.

Thank you so much for dropping by!

Thomas S. Monson
- I believe that among the greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and non-existent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey -- now.

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family history

Family history is something that I just love and for the longest time I have wanted to print & display a large family pedigree chart in my home. I want those names to be visible and familiar to my kids. From their grandparents to their great-grandparents and more!

Now, on Family Search you can sign up for an account and create a pretty nice family tree fan chart for free. My mom did it once and hung it in her home. And for a long time it was my plan to do the same thing. I hesitated a little, though, because the Family Search graphic included color and I really just wanted something clean, modern, and simple.

I came across Family Tree Prints some time ago, and recently they generously allowed me to try out their design tools and create a family tree print! I jumped at the chance!

They offer a lot of really great templates -- very clean, neat, modern. You can choose a fan chart or a circle chart as well as some adorable shapes that would be so cute in a nursery or playroom! I'm talking ladybugs, turtles, and crabs. There are many different color palettes to choose from - black and white (that's for me!) as well as bright and bold. It really is so easy to find something that will fit the decor of your home.

After choosing a template you can leave it as is, or go to town with all of the customization features. Fonts, colors, number of generations to include (anywhere from 4 to 9) . . . The process was very user-friendly.

Once everything looks just right, you go through the checkout process and download your print-ready file. That's the point that I'm at right now! Family Tree Prints provides some very helpful tips for printing. I'm trying to decide what size I would like for mine - 16x20 or 20x30 - but I'm leaning toward the bigger size just because I included so many generations. When it's all done I will check back in and share the final result.

For now, check out how awesome this 8 generation family tree is! As you can see I went for a very clean look -- this is the Classic White template. I wanted it to be timeless as I hope to have it in my home for a very long time. I'm excited to have it printed and hung soon!

For years people have been telling me how much Anna and I look alike. And I agree! She is my mini me! There have even been instances when speaking to school staff for the first time they do a double take and say, you must be Anna's mom.

I thought it would be fun to do a little photo side-by-side comparison. I've been meaning to do this for the longest time. So I took a few minutes and sorted through the scanned pictures that were already on my computer and I had Anna assist me in deciding which photos went best together. And I kid you not, in every photo she said, "Mom you looked so different", "Mom is that really you?" I'm SURE it's me, okay girl.

Side by side at 18 months old . . . .

Looking adorable at two. I LOVE that we even had the same hair cut! :)

Now at three-ish. This is my favorite comparison photo. Dead ringer!! It was tricky to find a photo of Anna with a relaxed smile. At this stage every smile was huge, scrunched up, or goofy.

Age four -- seriously one of my very favorite years for all of the kids. Four is just so happy.

More matching hairstyles at age 5. Anna is starting her first day of kindergarten and I'm super excited about my blue vest and polo shirt combo.

And one last photo at age eight. You gotta look past all my blue eyeshadow, and blush, and lipstick (this was taken during one of our pretend model photoshoots) . . . but you'll see the same sun-kissed, swimsuit wearing, live-in-the-pool-all-summer little girl.

I sure love this girl and I love that we have this connection. SHE quite likes the attention we get while out and out about and people point out our resemblance. I hope she always likes looking like her mom because it is apparent that it is heavy in her genes!

This week my Aunt posted a few photos of my grandfather on Facebook with the note that this would have been his 100th birthday.

He passed away in December 1982 at age 67 when I was just 3 years old. I have just 1 or 2 small glimmers of a memory of him, but stories of Grandpa Rene have always been a part of our extended family's narrative. He had a dynamic personality and everyone talks about him with a smile. In addition to how much he was loved and being the patriarch of the family . . . that was a loss all it's own . . . but his death also brought a big blow in regards to the family business and would forever affect the course of my parents' life - who at that time were just starting out, essentially newlyweds.

In my perception, Grandpa Rene's death has always had a dark cloud around it (not that any death is cheery) but his was/is associated with many, many hard years of struggling and trying to get our feet back on the ground.

But this post is not about those hard years. I guess I just share that to illustrate what an important role he played in the family and when he was gone his presence was severely missed.

My memories of Grandpa Rene:

Near the end of his life - he was suffering from prostate cancer - they brought a hospital bed into my grandparent's home and set it up in the front room. This is where he slept, lived, everything. I remember coming over to the house one day (we lived next door) and visiting him while he layed in the bed.

I also have a memory (although I'm not entirely sure that it is a real memory or an image that I created in my mind after hearing my grandmother tell me this story so many times) . . . I would come over to their house and climb into bed with him and "read" books to him. Note that I was 2 or 3 and did not have the ability to read. I would simply hold the book open, turn pages, and share whatever story or jibber-jabber came to mind.

Stories of Grandpa Rene:

He had a special drawer - the candy drawer - and it was filled with candy (obviously) that he would give to the little grandchildren whenever they came over.

He played the organ. And from what I hear he would tear up that organ busting out boisterous, jazzy, upbeat tunes for everyone to hear.

My grandpa Rene first met my grandma at a party and began flipping watermelon seeds at her to get her attention. He was kind of a big tease.

He had a special love for Disneyland and thought it was important that every child had a chance to go. In addition to his own family members and grandchildren, he paid the way for numerous others to spend a day at the happiest place on earth.

He loved his granddaughters. He just loved children but the girls were special and he would do fun things like buy them pretty dresses and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate for valentine's day (this is something that my dad does too).

I've heard that it was a regular occurrence for him to go out and purchase groceries and deliver them to families in need. He was always helping people and trying to give. After his passing many people came forward and shared times when Rene had assisted their families, saying that they didn't know what they would have done without his help.

He played a big part in establishing a new branch in the area I grew up in. He was the first Branch President, and later when we got a church building he donated his equipment to help clear the property and get it ready for construction.

He started a nut company - Andersen Farms - and that is the company that my dad and eventually his brother (who was on a mission at the time of his death) took over after grandpa's passing. They still run that company today and despite those HARD, tough years it is doing really well. This past week my dad and brothers prepared the pad/foundation to build their 3rd (or 4th?) warehouse to store all of the walnuts during the nut season. They keep running out of room!

He was a hard-working farmer and began farming early in life. This is what I call the iconic Grandpa Rene photo -- working the irrigation pipes in the tomato field. This photo was framed and has hung in the nut office for a long, long time.

There are many, many more stories of Grandpa Rene . . . these are just the ones I can remember from off the top of my head!

I can't wait for the day when I can meet him again and really get to know him. Even though he passed away when I was so young, he has always held a special place in my heart.

Good. Hey, I'm working on an app for a competition and it's all about family history and I was wondering if me and my buddy could drive down to Vegas and film you talking about family history & blogging for our promo video. Oh, and if we win the competition we get to present the app and this video at RootsTech.

Wow, sure! That sounds great! (and my mind instantly shifts to the real possibility of stuttering over my words or having absolutely nothing to say on camera and having that shown on a huge screen in a conference hall all while my eyes are shifting left and right because that's what they do when I know a video camera is on my face.)

He assured me that we would talk through it, script it out if necessary, and it would all be good.

But this post, this video isn't about me. Like I mentioned, my brother and one of his tech buddys collaborated on building an app to enter into a competition for RootsTech - a big family history and technology conference. Heck, Laura and Jenna Bush are the keynote speakers this year!

I can't give the details of what the app does - the competition is not over yet. But I can tell you that it was so cool to have them in my house for an afternoon working, brainstorming, and tinkering over the app . . . making the final touches. And then we talked about family history and what it means to people. And then they whipped out the video camera and interview questions, and I talked and sorted through family photos.

This week I got to see the final result, and it is so fantastic! After watching what they did while here I am so impressed with the editing and the way they made it all flow together so beautifully.

Pioneer Day is coming up this week (July 24th) and I already mentioned that we had a chance to celebrate yesterday with the parade. Today I hopped onto FamilySearch.org and clicked back through the generations on my pedigree chart until I reached a few of my pioneer ancestors that came across the plains to Utah in the mid-1800's.

I love that Family Search provides a place for the sharing of photos, histories, and stories. I snagged one of those histories and thought I would share it today. I've never read about Rebecca and I have to say that she has a very interesting start to her story.

Rebecca Christiana Friis (my great-great-great-grandmother) was born in Valbe near Copenhangen, Denmark on July 11, 1818. Her parents, Casper Gottlob Friis and Rosine Kristina Konig, were both natives of Denmark.

In fact, her father owned a large estate in Denmark and was one of the nobility. Casper had a young Swedish man, Johannes Svenssen, working for him as a gardener. He and Rebecca fell in love and were married. This was contrary to the wishes of the parents of Rebecca and they disowned her. (Doesn't this sound just like a book or movie?!)

The young couple lived in Denmark and struggled for a livelihood. They had two children -- a girl, Emma Elisa and a boy, Frithiof Emmanuel. At some point they met the Mormon missionaries. Sadly, Johannes died in February 1853 in Fredriksborg, Denmark. A few months later Rebecca was baptized and joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

She made plans to go to Utah with her two small children. While crossing the ocean her precious baby boy died. Once she reached America she crossed the plains - walking - with a pioneer company. She and her daughter arrived in Utah in 1854.

Within a year she met and married Jens Peter Andersen in Salt Lake City on February 23, 1855. (Jens had also joined the church in his homeland of Denmark and had also lost a child while crossing the Atlantic with his first wife. The wife died soon after they arrived in Salt Lake.) While still in Salt Lake thier first child, James Peter (my great-great-grandfather) was born on November 28, 1855. Hmm, if I do the math that is exactly 9 months and 5 days after their wedding date. ;)

Rebecca's history says that at that time she and Jens suffered much for want of food as the grasshoppers had taken their crops.

In 1856 they moved to Ephraim and 4 children were born. Rebecca learned to do many things common to frontier life - such as making soap and candles, spinning and dyeing yarn for clothing. She did the sewing for her family and other fine needlework. Remember, she came from a family of nobility in Denmark and lived on a large estate. I wonder how different her life was back then and if it was difficult to live and work as a pioneer in a new, undeveloped territory. She obviously made the best of it and learned what she needed to do to take care of her family.

In 1863 they moved to Glenwood, Utah (Sevier County). Her youngest child died while living there.

They were in Glenwood just a short time before the Indians drove them out. They returned to Ephraim where they lived for the rest of their lives.

Rebecca endured many hardships during her life, but at no time did she ever complain. She was a lady, kind loving wife and mother, and she lived up to ideals of right, and died as she had lived, a true and faithful Latter-day Saint on November 24, 1866. She left three small children.

What a great lady - and to think of all the places that life took her: living as nobility in Denmark, being disowned by her family, crossing the Atlantic and losing a child, walking across the plains to Utah, enduring hunger, being driven out by Indians . . . . this truly is the stuff of novels and movies.

Amid the hardship she did not complain and she remained a lady. I love that. What a great example and I'm glad to have her in my pioneer heritage!

This week I received a package from my mom. A box full of photographs, old cassette tape recordings, a lace handkerchief, a metal goblet (which we are calling the Holy Grail until I'm able to call her and get the real story behind it), newspaper clippings, and more.

Mom has been cleaning out their house and I believe she prepared similar boxes for each of us kids. I sorted through the contents quickly, anxious to see all that was in there. Anna stood by my side, asked questions, and laughed at funny hair-do's. I can't wait to take some more time and go through things more slowly and organize all those memories.

It has long been on my list to put together a Family History scrapbook. I want it to be gathering place for photos, memories, and stories of grandparents and ancestors on my side and Scott's side. With the photos I received this week, and stories I got from my dad at the family reunion I'm feeling closer to ready for starting this big project. Knowing that it will be a big project is good because I understand that it won't come together all at once. Things will be added here and there, which will actually make it more enjoyable as I can spread out the discoveries and connections that I learn about over time.

I can't wait.

On our drive home from Utah this week, we made a quick stop at BYU campus and happened to visit the Museum of Art for a few minutes. I was instantly attracted to this beautiful piece of art.

Upon closer inspection I realized that it was a chain of family names. A family tree!

"Hanging Family History" by Valerie Atkisson

The plaque read: "In this cascading sculpture, each triangular piece of rice paper has a name, beginning with Atkisson's own name at the top and continuing through 2,000 years of her ancestry."

Isn't that amazing? I just thought it was so beautiful I had to share it.

Last month when I had a chance to travel to California with Anna for my niece's baptism, I also got to attend church with my parents in the building that I grew up in. Shortly after I was married my parents moved, and then moved again. Both moves kept them in the same general area but different wards and stakes. The last time I attended my "home ward" was in 1999.

When we pulled up to the Crowslanding chapel a flood of memories came back. But first, I was shocked by how small it looked! In my memories that front grassy area was HUGE! And today it looked so small to my grown-up eyes. I laughed when I realized the shift in perspective.

Today, I wanted to jot down a few memories of attending the Crowslanding Ward, on Crowslanding Road, in the tiny town of Crowslanding, California. Population 355.

Our ward took in several small towns in the area -- Crowslanding, Gustine (where I grew up), Newman, and Patterson. Today, that same area is split into 1 ward and 2 branches that all meet in this building.

Before we had this chapel, the Crowslanding Branch met in a community building. My dad often tells the story of Fast Sunday (the first Sunday of the month when we fast for 2 meals). On that Sunday the Lions Club also used the basement of the building to cook up their monthly pancake breakfast. Having to smell the pancakes and syrup during their church meetings was torture!

My grandpa Rene was the first Branch President.

I was the last baby to be blessed in the branch as they attended in that community building.

The following year, I believe, this chapel was built. It included just what you see here in the front - chapel (on the left), a hallway of 6ish classrooms/offices & baptismal font, and a multipurpose room at the end.

It was dedicated by LeGrand Richards, an apostle of the church.

True to the agricultural community that I grew up in the building is bordered by walnut orchards to the left and back, and an almond orchard across the street. To the right was Ben's house.

We drove 15 minutes (10 miles) to church each week. Many times we took two cars to church when my dad had early meetings. For the drive home we would split up between mom & dad's cars and they would "race" home. One time I was driving with dad and mom was in the lead. We followed closely behind on Highway 33, trying to find a way to pass her when she unexpectedly pulled off to the shoulder of the road. My dad followed, thinking that something was wrong. As soon as we got off the road she gunned it and sped back onto the highway, solidifying her lead and leaving us into the dust! (At least that's the way I remember it -- the roles may have been reversed.)

For a while my dad was in charge of maintaining the grounds. I remember riding my tricycle around the parking lot while he mowed or trimmed the hedges. One day, and I have no idea why, I took off my white socks with lace trim and stuffed them into a drainage pipe at the edge of the sidewalk. So weird that I even remember that.

Notable events that were held in this building: my baptism, my grandma Margaret's mission farewell, and both of my grandparent's funerals (1983 and 1999).

When I started taking piano lessons at age 5 from Kim (age 16), we would meet here in the Primary room. Her family lived far up in the hills and this was a good meeting point.

When we grew in numbers and eventually became a ward, my dad was the first bishop.

Sometime around age 10 we got approval for construction of "phase 2" -- this included a gym, kitchen, and many more classrooms on the back of the building. It was such a blessing!

This steeple. This is where the kids would hang out at the end of the church block on Sundays, waiting for our parents to come out and gather us home. I just had to get a picture of Anna on the pedestal.

During my freshman year, I attended early morning seminary here. Everyday. The following year they decided to split the class in two and to attend in the instructor's homes on either ends of the ward boundaries, providing a much shorter drive.

There was that one time I ran over Sam's foot/ankle in the parking lot.

And the time that Denver pulled the fire alarm.

And we can't forget when Denver walked back into sacrament meeting (after going to the bathroom on his own - dad was bishop and mom was wrangling 5 children) with no pants on and made all the old ladies on the back row giggle. He was 3 or 4.

The upholstery on the pews and the carpet have changed from orange to mauve-y pink to purple.

My dad and I attended ward choir practice after church in the Relief Society Room. It was pretty great because each week someone was in charge of bringing snack & treats.

* * * * *

When I attended church here last month I recognized next to no one. So much has changed since I moved. But it was heart-warming still to see this building that I grew up in and remember it all -- primary classes, young women activities, ward chili cookouts and talent shows, shaking hands with Brother Leatham in the foyer, and always sitting in our family's spot - the back 2 rows on the left.

In conjunction with Story Sunday I plan to share one idea, resource, or bit of inspiration to assist others with sharing & recording their story.

I really enjoyed the following video. There are no words, just animation & music and yet it powerfully teaches the importance or keeping and sharing our family stories. Every family has a story.

Life has been busy, but full of good busy things. This week especially has been a busy church week: a Relief Society presidency meeting, religion class, Compassionate Service committee meeting & 60th birthday lunch for our Relief Society president, a Stake Relief Society appreciation dinner (for all the RS presidencies - yummy Cafe Rio dinner and Better Than *** Cake), spending an afternoon with the sister missionaries, a Relief Society picnic in the park, and the opportunity to visit a homebound sister. Phew! And that's just Monday through Thursday.

(If you're wondering what the heck is Relief Society? Go here. I serve as the Relief Society secretary in my ward.)

I'm coming out of this blog silence because I just have to tell you about the most amazing thing that happened on Wednesday!

But first let's back up to Tuesday . . . I arrived at the compassionate service meeting I mentioned above, and as I got out of my car I was greeted by one of the elderly sisters in our ward, Ona. She said, "Oh hello! I've been thinking about you. Would you be able to go visit Myrtle Brown tomorrow?" After I checked my calendar and it looked clear I told her, sure. Myrtle is a 96 year old woman in our ward who lives with a caregiver and is homebound. Ona has taken it upon herself to make sure that she gets weekly visits from women in our Relief Society. There is service all around, I tell ya.

That afternoon and evening Ona was on the phone trying to find someone to go with me, but didn't have any luck. I told her it was okay, I could just go on my own. I had never met Myrtle before. But I have heard from many sources that she is a delightful lady, with the most amazing memory.

I pulled up to the house on Wednesday afternoon and met the caregiver. She showed me to Myrtle's room. Immediately she lit up and was so excited to see/hear me enter. (She has macular degeneration so her sight is fading). I gave her a hug and introduced myself as Shannon Brown. She had me pull up a chair real close because her hearing is also fading, so I sat down, leaned in, and we began talking. Instantly she noted the "Brown" connection and wanted to know where my Browns were from. Idaho. Nope, not a match for her.

She went on to tell me that she was born, raised, and married in Overton, Nevada.

A light bulb went on in my head. It was a shot in the dark, but I thought I would ask anyway. "By any chance to you know Carrie Andersen, or Rene Andersen?" (My great-grandmother Carrie, and grandpa Rene on my dad's side.)

"Carrie Andersen?! I know her! We lived just up the street from them! And oh yes, I know Rene and he married Margaret!"

Holy cow. I totally got the chills. And even teared up a bit at the mention of their names. That's my grandparents! And my great-grandmother. She was tickled with the excitemnet of this discovery and I was just floored.

"I remember Rene - he played the piano."

Yes!

"And Carrie was a quilter. Oh, she was such a caring woman."

Yes!

"My sister had some cows and one time they got loose and ate up Fay's garden." Fay is my great-grandfather, Carrie's husband.

At this point I'm just beside myself.

Then, she went on for the next hour to tell me stories, and names, and relations, and connections of all these Andersen relatives from Overton, Nevada. It was the most amazing thing.

"I remember when Rene and Margaret met. Margaret's sister Lucille Sevey was living in Overton and was an elementary teacher at the school. Margaret and her sister Phyllis came from Tucson, Arizona to stay with Lucille and help her. You know, this was the time of the depression so things were tough then."

She recounted that Rene and Margaret became a couple pretty quickly.

She commented that all the Andersens were short. And so many of them died of cancer.

She knew the names of every single one of Fay & Carrie's children.

She knew that the youngest of my grandpa's siblings, Uncle Phil, had passed away just last year.

"Now, when Rene left Overton he started a nut business." {Yes! My dad & uncle still run that nut business today!} "Oh yes, and every year Glen {Rene's brother} would bring back packages of Andersen Nuts -- almonds, pecans, and walnuts. And every year we would purchase some of those Andersen Nuts!"

She told me that she remembered when Margaret Ann was born (1937) -- Rene and Margaret's first child, my aunt. Myrtle was with a group of girls near Carrie's house. Carrie asked the girls if they wanted to see the new baby. So she took them upstairs and they got to see her. "We knew that anybody in Carrie's house got the best of care."

"You know that Fay was called on a mission for the church. There was an old pueblo home that Carrie converted into a boarding house and ran things to support the family while he was away on a mission. She was an ambitious woman."

She knew Carrie's maiden name was Hannig. And that the Hannigs lived in St. Thomas, Nevada. The government bought all of the homes and land in St. Thomas when they made plans to build the Hoover Dam, so everyone had to leave. Today the area of St. Thomas is all underwater.

She told me that she even attended Carrie's 90th birthday party. It was a big event.

She also attended Carrie's funeral in 1988. That totally floored me because I was at her funeral too! I was just 8 years old and I vividly remember my family packing up to drive down to Overton for the funeral. I even remember what dress I wore -- a black velvet dress with a white lace collar. Two additional memories of that trip: red ants on the sidewalk and homemade ice cream made with a hand-crank bucket.

And this is how the conversation went. She would tell stories and I would say "Yes!", having some vague recollection of hearing those details and connections before. But not really knowing them. I couldn't believe that I had just met this woman and here she was telling memy family history!

Then it got even better.

"You know that Carrie graduated from high school the same year as Rene. She had never finished school. So she went back and graduated with her son. You know, I think I have a yearbook with their photos in it."

She then directed me to a cabinet in the corner of her room and described where she thought the yearbook might be. Remember, her eyesight is failing so she couldn't really point it out to me. After much searching (and almost giving up) I finally found it, tied up in a grocery store bag.

Look at these treasures. Sure enough, Carrie and Rene are pictured together on the Senior class pages.

The class of 1932.

The Senior pages also included a small quip about each person along with a list of their activities.

How interesting that my great-grandmother was such a fan of Shakespeare.

But we all knew that Grandpa Rene was a big jokester.

The Senior Class Prophecy was a little bit random, but still interesting to read.

What a handsome man.

Myrtle also had a yearbook from the following school year, 1933-34, and on the faculty page I found Lucille Sevey - my grandmother's sister that I mentioned earlier.

Really, truly what an amazing experience! When I agreed to go visit this sweet 96 year old woman I had no idea the treasures and connections that we would uncover. And her memory! I was just beside myself at her ability to recall names, dates, places, and details. At one point I pulled out my notebook to jot down notes because I knew that I would not be able to remember on my own!

As the details and stories started pouring out I knew that this was a unique, special experience and I needed to remember it. I mean, really, what are the odds?

Near the end of our conversation she told me that the county fair was going to be this weekend in Logandale, near Overton. She said that I should go and make a trip up to Overton too. "Just tell people you're an Andersen. They'll know who you are!"

Myrtle is actually celebrating her 97th birthday in just over a week. 97. Wow. As I was leaving she told me, "I can't wait to tell my brother that I visited with Rene Andersen's granddaughter!" What a sweet lady. I look forward to visiting with her again sometime and sharing more of our connections.

(I know my mom is not going to like that I posted this picture. Sorry! But it's the only picture I have of us in this house. I love your blue eyeshadow.)

In the mid-80's my family lived in a 3 bedroom, 1-level ranch style home on Hales Drive. For most of the time it was just my parents, Sam, and I. Kent joined us in July 1985. In this picture I am 6 and Sam is 4.

I remember the family room with dark wood paneling, the maroon couch and love seat set, the small tv with antennas and a round dial which you used to manually change the channel, and even the speckled brown carpet.

I remember my black & white cat named Cuddles who liked to do her business in the corner by the front door. She didn't last long with us (we're not cat people) and eventually went to live at the dairy where grandpa worked.

I remember watching The Last Starfighter on that tv, knowing the dialogue by heart, and while repeating the dialogue out loud I managed to say my first (and only) curse word. I'm pretty sure my mom washed my mouth out with soap.

I remember one time running around the kitchen with Sam, around and around in circles, until we got too crazy and one of us (I can't recall who) knocked mom's ceramic brown & white spotted cow off the counter and broke it. We got in trouble. I'm pretty sure she glued it back together.

I remember having a fish aquarium in my bedroom, and sometimes when the door was closed I would reach my hand into the water and take one of the fish out and just hold it.

I remember the time my mom threw a birthday party for my 6th birthday and she even hired a clown. It was pretty amazing.

I remember my parents inspecting at Sam's hands at the dinner table. His palms were green because he would carry a few pennies around in his fist all day long, clutching them tightly.

I remember laying in bed and listening to my parents watch movies at night. Sometimes my dad's best friend Ben would be over. And another friend, Wendy?

I remember telling my parents that I was going to marry Ben and that I would make him sandwiches. With alfalfa sprouts.

I remember being afraid of monsters or aliens in my closet and under my bed. Like, seriously afraid.

I remember sleep-walking one night and waking up to find myself trying to climb into one of the dresser drawers.

I remember having my first sleepover there with a group of girls from school. One of the girls was scared of the dark. Another girl told stories that I thought were inappropriate. Even though sleepovers seemed like the ultimate activity to do with your friends, I learned that they weren't all that great.

I remember there were 2 old wooden spool tables in the backyard that Sam and I would roll around and do stuff with.

I also remember that Sam had a little golden pocket-watch. I don't think it worked and I don't know where he got it from.

One day I was assigned the chore of vacuuming the family room. We had one of those old vacuums that consisted of a tank that rolled on the floor, attached to a long hose and nozzle that you held in your hand.

I must have been in a grumpy mood. Because when I saw Sam's pocket-watch lying on the floor I was annoyed. Why don't people pick up their stuff? And I was much too lazy to pick it up myself. So . . . . I vacuumed it up. Yep. Heartlessly I just sucked up that pocket-watch that I knew he loved and listened to it clank-clank it's way through the hose into the tank.

And I said nothing about. Even when Sam noticed that it was missing I said nothing. After a while it was forgotten and I never fessed up. Yep, I might have had an issue with honesty. But mostly a fear of getting in trouble -- because I was a people pleaser and the "good girl".

The years went by but I never mentioned it. Even though I thought about it from time to time. Then last year, about 28 years after the incident (sheesh!), I decided this was silly and I needed to come clean. A small thing, maybe, but I felt like I owed Sam an apology.

I had been assigned Sam's name in our sibling Christmas gift exchange. I considered finding a new pocket-watch for him and did a little searching. But eventually I settled on a really neat print of a pocket-watch that I found on Etsy. I framed it and included a note explaining the story along with my apology.

I talked to him on the phone after Christmas morning and sure enough he still remembered that pocket-watch. He said he always wondered where it had disappeared to. And so we reconciled, laughed, and all was well -- and it was actually a really nice adult moment that drew us a little closer together. Good communication can do that.

Sam and I - July 2011

In conjunction with Story Sunday I plan to share one idea, resource, or bit of inspiration to assist others with sharing & recording their story.

Here are two posts from Becky Higgins' blog that have stood out to me recently:

Before you had kids, you had a story: Loved how this woman documented HER childhood in a project life album. I did the same thing with Scott's childhood photos a year ago and it turned out great (I'll have to show you sometime). I intend to do the same thing for my childhood photos as well.

We noticed - a mother's journal: Remember when I talked about the journals I keep for my kids? My journaling is sporadic at best with gaps of years in between entries. Well, Becky just blogged about the way she does this form of journaling. It's a new years resolution for her. She purchased 3 simple spiral bound notebooks and has made a goal to write one thing she noticed about each child, each day. Funny, serious, a quote, whatever. But the point is to keep it short. Two sentences works.

This weekend we took the family to Utah for skiing. We make sure the kids get to ski at least once a year -- and usually it is just that, once a year. When telling others about an upcoming ski trip inevitably I get the question, "do you ski?"

My answer: "No. I just sit in the lodge, help with wet/tired kids, or I walk outside to watch Scott and the kids come down the slope."

I did try skiing once. Let me tell you about it.

In 2001 we were visiting Scott's parents in Idaho for Christmas, I believe. His brother Kevin and wife Lisa were also there. The boys wanted to go skiing, but neither Lisa nor I had ever been. They convinced us that this was a perfect opportunity to try it out.

So Dennis (my father-in-law), Scott, Kevin, Lisa and I packed up in the suburban and headed up to Pomerelle for a day of skiing. The photo above was taken in the parking lot after we arrived and got geared up. The boys checked us girls into a ski lesson for the day and off they went to have some fun.

(I was recently telling this story to Anna and she said, "They have ski lessons for grown-ups?" Yep.)

I believe that Lisa and I were the only two people in the ski class that day. Which was great. We had some good individualized attention from the ski instructor. We learned how to make a "pizza", how to walk in skis, and I learned that the poles are really of no use and the boots really hurt. Then over and over again we held onto the tow rope as it pulled us to the top of the bunny hill and we tested our new skills as we glided down.

It was somewhat doable. But a little nerve-wracking for this girl who does not necessarily do adventure sports.

At lunchtime the boys found us and they decided that we needed to try the real mountain. Of course they would be right at our sides to help us all along the way. Right?

Up we went on the chair lift. When we got to the top I was surprised to learn that the ski run wasn't just right there. We had to walk (or in my case, shimmy) over to the run. I was not so great at walking in the skis so it was a real challenge and I was nearly frustrated before we even began.

Once we got to the top of the run I looked down and thought, what have I got myself into. Even though it was the easiest rated slop on the hill it just looked scary! Scott coaxed me to follow him (which sounded crazy -- what if I fall and you don't even know because I'm in your snow dust and I'm stuck and I can't get up?!). Somehow he finally convinced me to go. I guess because it was my only option.

As so we began. As you can imagine there was a lot of falling. I couldn't get myself to stand back up. Then I couldn't figure out how to steer. I couldn't slow myself down. I'm sure I ran into 1 or 2 people, yelling the whole time "watch out!" because any attempts to change direction on my part was useless. When we got to the bottom of the slope, even though we were on level-ish ground, I still couldn't stop and ended up running into the orange fence netting by the chair lift. And falling. Of course there was a line of people there to watch it all.

Scott, even though seeing my struggle down the hill, was still optimistic. Want to go down again?

Ha. Ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha ha. No.

Scott, "But everyone falls and has a hard time their first day skiing."

I'm sure they do. I basically told him that I could not see myself enjoying this. It was not fun. And more-so I did not like the speed combined with feeling out of control. He conceded that yes, that is a part of skiing (but he likes that feeling).

And then I saw all the hopes & dreams of "having a family that skis" fade from his eyes. He was seriously disappointed that I was not into it. I apologized, but there really wasn't anything else I could do. I gave it a shot and I really did not like it. Terror does not equal fun for me.

I tried to reassure him that there were plenty of other things our family could do or that our family could "be". And we had plenty of years ahead of us to discover just what.

We went back home and for the next 2 days I couldn't walk.

Over the years Scott has taken it upon himself to get the kids into skiing -- beginning at age 5-ish he placed them in a full-day lesson, and then somewhere around age 8 they start on the slopes. And I come along as the helper. I hang out in the lodge. I take care of kids who are wet, tired, or need to use the bathroom. I spend the day walking back and forth to check on whichever child is in ski lessons. I usually bring a book, but not much reading happens. And somewhere in there I drink a hot chocolate or two.

So even though I don't get on the slopes, we are still a skiing family.

In conjunction with Story Sunday I plan to share one idea, resource, or bit of inspiration to assist others with sharing & recording their story.

RootsTech is a family history and technology conference that was held in Salt Lake City last week. "RootsTech is a unique conference to help you discover and share your family stories and connections."

When I first heard about this conference my heart jumped. It fits my one little word - story - perfectly! I would have loved to have attended, but we were going to be in Utah one week too late. :(

But, I learned that now you can access many of the keynote addresses and class presentations through videos online! Sweet!

The opening keynote was given by Ree Drummond, aka The Pioneer Woman. And the Saturday keynote was given by Stephanie Nielson of the NieNie Dialogues. She blogs about her experience HERE.

What a great line-up! I haven't watched any of the videos yet, but I plan to very soon.

On Saturday of the conference they held a free Family Discovery Day for families to come take classes and explore the exhibit hall. In a keynote titled "Find Your Cousins", by Neil L. Andersen he talked to youth about the exciting role that they can have in discovering their own family history. I think that is awesome that it can become a family project.

If you want to know why we (members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) care about Family History go HERE.

Today is Payton's 11th birthday. My squishy little clown of a boy is growing up! In honor of his birthday, and the fact that I started this blog when he was 2 1/2, I thought I would take a minute to write the story of his birthday. With the help with some notes in his scrapbook.

When Conner (our first) was born, he was one week overdue and weighed 9lbs. 9oz. Long, traumatic delivery, lots of stitches, you get the idea. My very understanding OBGYN agreed that I should not have to go through that again so she kindly scheduled an induction for baby #2 one week before my due date.

On that February 2nd morning -- a Sunday -- we woke up early, showered, ate, said good-bye to Conner & Grammer Teresa, and left for our 7:30am appointment at the hospital. It was a foggy morning and it stayed that way for pretty much most of the day. St. Vincent's Hospital was located in Portland, approximately 30 miles away from our home. As Scott and I drove and we got nearer and nearer the hospital we both admitted that we were a little nervous. This time we knew what labor was all about -- thinking back to the first delivery had my nerves going. Then the realization also began to set in that by the end of the day we were going to have another child in our family. We were excited to see this little boy and get to know him.

By 8:55am I had my IV hooked up and the nurses started me on Pitocin. An hour and a half later I was finally feeling the contractions. They were only a little uncomfortable and about 2-3 minutes apart. Scott and I just sat quietly in the room -- trying to stay rested.

At 11:50am I hadn't progressed much so the nurse decided to break my bag of water. As hoped, this started to intensify things. I began having contractions that were painful and I really had to concentrate and breathe through them. After about 5 of those I said "I'm done." I've felt labor before, I've known that pain -- I didn't need to "experience" it anymore. Get me my epidural.

Heaven, in the form of an anesthesiologist, arrived at 1:15pm.

At 3:35pm the nurse came to check on me. Jokingly, Scott said, "We're looking for a 7." Things had been progressing so slowly thus far that we were sure this was going to last well into the evening. The nurse examined me and chuckled and said, "you're right at 7-8cm." We were both very surprised.

As time passed I began to feel more uncomfortable and asked for a second dose of the epidural. At the same time I was also feeling a lot of pressure -- which was a new sensation for me. (During Conner's labor I felt nothing I was so numbed up). I convinced the nurse to check me again at 4:40pm and she announced, "you're ready." Scott and I immediately looked at each other in shock! We both sat there in complete disbelief watching as the nurses began breaking down the bed and wheeling in the delivery cart.

The nurse asked me to do one practice push . . . and he was coming!

They immediately told me to stop and paged the doctor who was at the office across the street. At 4:55 the doctor arrived out of breath - she had sprinted the whole way. The nurses quickly prepared her and we began to push. 3 contractions later and Payton was born at 5:12pm, weighing 7lbs 12oz (the smallest of all my babies).

When I saw his sweet face for the first time I was flooded with emotion. It was something I will never forget.

The nurses placed him in my arms and I got to hold and cuddle him for the longest time. It felt like a quieter experience than the first time around. It was a calm several moments of connecting, discovering his little face, and realizing that we were now a family of four. His skin was so soft, and his face was perfect in every way.

(Heading home from the hospital 2 days later)

And now we get to celebrate this boy in our lives every February 2nd (along with ground hog's day, and sometimes the Super Bowl). He adds an element of magic & humor & silly imagination to our family and I don't know what we would ever do without him.

Happy Birthday Payton!

In conjunction with Story Sunday I plan to share one idea, resource, or bit of inspiration to assist others with sharing & recording their story. Don't get overwhelmed thinking that you have to do it all. The beauty of having so many options is that you can pick and choose the method that works best for you!

I have a hardbound journal for each of my kids that I write in

It includes whatever random things come to my mind . . . . memorable stories, things that they are doing, funny things they say, their struggles/challenges, how they are growing, etc.

I will fully admit that I was much much better at writing in these when they were small. Blogging kind of took over, but I still have the journals. And I enjoy going back to read little notes about the nicknames we had for them (that week), the messes they made, or other small details of life that didn't make it into a blog post.

I want to re-commit this year this write a little more in each of their journals. Plus, having this record from their mom's perspective, in her handwriting, I think . . . I hope will be something they cherish someday.

This is the beginning of a blog series. For Story Sunday I will share a story that is tied to a single photo from the past or present, an object, a recipe . . . anything with a story behind it.

**I meant to post this on Sunday. I wrote it on Sunday. But I just couldn't pull myself away from my comfortable bed, Downton Abbey, and my chocolate chip pizookie long enough to click "publish". So just pretend that today is Sunday, okay?

Gustine High School Marching Band, 1995

A few weeks ago I watched the Rose Bowl Parade on tv which featured many top notch high school marching bands from around the country. As I watched I suddenly remembered, hey! I was in a marching band. It was funny that something I was involved in for years had almost slipped from my memory. I started sharing stories and details of my band days with Scott. And I realized that I've never told my kids about this extra-curricular activity of mine. For me, a lot of my memories are based on photos and for whatever reason band is something that I don't have many photos of.

So yes. I was in band. That's me playing the flute on the front row, left. Just look at that great posture!

I started playing the flute in 4th grade and continued through my junior year of high school.

I went to a small high school (400 students) and we had a small band. Thankfully, being in band at our school did not have that nerdy/un-cool stigma that it might have other places. Our band included members of the football team, cheerleaders, and other "popular" kids.

Joining band in our small school meant that you you did it all - concert band, marching band, pep band. Football games (and half-time shows), marching band competitions, local parades (homecoming and Veterans' Day), basketball games, and concerts. The football games were always fun and I did love playing the school fight song, "Sons of the Gustine Reds, fight for your alma mater . . . " I think I might still remember the notes!

Our band room was separate from the rest of the high school. Band was always held during 1st period. I remember many mornings (some COLD, foggy mornings) going outside to practice our lines and roll steps in the parking lot or football field. When a competition was approaching we had after-school practices on the street in front of the highschool, practicing our corner turns as we went round and around the block. Of course we never had to worry about traffic. Traffic? What's that?

Our band uniforms were pretty awesome. Ha! Thick polyester. Old. And those hats. Oh my. You can't see it in the photo but our shirts had the most amazing ruffles. Pretty sweet. My shoes were a knock-off Doc Martens brand. The yellow stitching on the sole was a big no-no for competition, so I had to cover those up with a permanent marker.

Our director was Mr. Jamero, a little Polynesian man that we all loved. He had been the elementary, junior high, and high school band director in our town for 30 years. In fact, he was the band director when my dad was in band! He had a quiet way about him. He didn't have to raise his voice or get upset or call us to attention too often. There was a feeling of respect towards him that came from his years of experience and who he was in the community. He would sit on his stool in front of us, grey hair brushed back, dark glasses, and wave his little baton in short, quick movements. I was always impressed with what he was able to get us to do with seemingly little effort. He waved his hand, we followed. Like I said, we all loved him. Mr. Jamero retired after my sophomore year and he even attended my wedding reception.

1994 - Standing in front of the school. Look at how small our group was!

By my junior year I was the 1st chair flute. Woo! The only downside was the fact that the 2nd chair flute was a boy who "liked" me. But he just gave me the creeps. He was always asking me the oddest questions. There were also some random phone calls and anonymous notes in my locker that I'm sure came from him. Honestly, I still shudder just thinking about it! And I had to sit by him and share a music stand with him every single day.

When Mr. Jamero retired, there was a mass exodus of band members with him. I decided to stay on and give the new guy a shot. But he ended up being horrible, for a lot of reasons. So after my junior year I left band too.

That's pretty much my band story! I don't know if it surprises people to hear that I was in marching band. Maybe. But where I grew up it was what we did. We were small. And we probably weren't the most polished group. But we always did our best and had a good time.

In conjunction with Story Sunday I plan to share one idea, resource, or bit of inspiration to assist others with sharing & recording their story. I will point out from the beginning . . . don't get overwhelmed by thinking that you have to do it all. The beauty of having so many options is that you can pick and choose the method that works best for you!

Oh Life is an online journal service. I have used it off and on over the years.

It's really easy: Go to Oh Life, sign up for an account. Each day they send you a friendly e-mail with the question "How did your day go?" You type a response, send it, and it is stored privately at their site. At any time you can log into your account and export your journal entries to your computer.

Here's what I love about it:

It's just a great reminder. And I need reminders! You can adjust your account settings to choose the time that your email shows up. You can get the emails daily or change it to a weekly reminder if that works better for you.

While laying in bed at the end of the day I can pull out my iPad and type a few sentences, write out a detailed story, or simply list the events & activities of the day.

The daily email from Oh Life includes a look back at a random entry from the past. I LOVE that. Here's a screenshot of the reminder email I received a few days ago:

As I mentioned, I have used it off and on over the years. Mostly off. But I want to do better this year by responding to the daily emails 2-3 times a week. Some days it might be really short, but at least it will be something.